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| Madison Heights suburb, a few blocks from where I grew up |
Since there weren't any other kids in the neighborhood the same age, my brother and I would play together all the time. One day we were playing, in a fenced in area attached to the rear of the apartment complex, with little plastic horses and cowboys in a sandbox. To our surprise, we saw a brother and sister our age of Italian descent playing with plastic army men and jeeps on the other side of the fence. The girl spoke English and before we knew it, we decided to trade toys. They were called in for dinner a short time later, so we decided to go back to our room to play there. My mom got the shock of her life, when a woman came banging on the front door yelling at her in Italian a short time later. It took her half an hour to figure out that they wanted to trade the toys back.
My father now managed the W.T. Grants that was located just off the Chrysler Freeway. My mom, brother and I managed to navigate through town using public transit when we had to. We lived on a very tight income that my father allotted my mother every week. We would make do with what we could afford every month from the local Farmer Jack's a few miles down the road. I lived on Pillsbury Breakfast sticks, Kabooms cereal, Pizza Spins, Sunshine pink frosted animal crackers and the occasional Good Humor strawberry crunch ice cream bar. All seemed to be good, but as the months passed I saw less and less of my father. He would be gone every morning when I woke up and would still be gone by the time I went to bed. The toys he would normally bring home weren't coming as frequently as they used to either. It almost became a habit to expect to see him on the weekend, but very rarely would we stay home on his days off. Normally, we would take a two hour drive to Midland to visit my grandparents.. meaning HIS mom and dad. Very rarely did we ever visit my mom's parents.
A visit with my grandparents was always an anticipation to look forward to. Usually, my grandmother would spoil my brother and me while my dad, uncle and grandpa would go off and do their own thing. Never being one to want to stray too far from the action, I would often approach my father to see if I could take part with whatever he was doing. On one occasion, he was showing my uncle and grandpa a matching pair of pearl handled Colt 45 revolvers that he had purchased. They all proceeded to the backyard to shoot them off at targets they measured off in different locations in the yard. Without getting in the way, I stood on the porch and watched them shoot the guns.. soon covering my ears so they wouldn't ring from the gun fire. My father turned and saw me standing on the porch and said "Okay Clyde, you wanna try it?" I never knew where the nickname Clyde came from, but my dad and uncle called me it ever since I could remember. I readily agreed and took my stance while my dad held the pistol for me to take aim. He said "Okay, you have to focus, aim at the target and slowly pull the trigger." I told him "Okay." and proceeded to empty all the rounds in the gun in a matter of seconds. With a look of discouragement, he verified that I wouldn't be doing that again anytime soon.
The excessive time that my father spent working, really began to show through his demeanor. As more time passed, his temper grew more excessive and unpredictable. I never understood why little things would set a rage in motion, but I soon learned to be extremely cautious if he wasn't talking. Times were much different back then. Domestic abuse and child abuse were unheard of. If you had a whooping coming, chances were likely that you did something to deserve it. There were countless times I recall feeling the sting of a belt or paddle, but there were occasions I received welts from willow branches and clothes line too. I never harbored any resentment for the punishments I received, but usually felt like a burden to the person who administered it as their anger and disappointment often seemed to consume them for days. One beating left a scar that I still carry to this day, after a belt buckle embedded in my lower back. The pain was so incredible that I passed out. I was only five at the time, remembering waking up in the backseat of a moving car. I shook and shivered from being cold after wetting myself while I was unconscious.
Something definitely changed in the atmosphere in the apartment a few months after we moved into it. My mom seemed more depressed and my father's temper was so uncharacteristic. Nothing was ever physically out of the ordinary, but there was a feeling that loomed and became more noticeable with each passing day. One night I awoke from a bad dream, got out of my bed and looked for my mom for comfort. As I stepped out of my room, I saw something in the hallway that terrified me. I turned away and tried to run to my mom and dad's bedroom, but I could hardly move. I tried to scream, but could only utter a whimpering sigh. With both eyes wide open, I tried to move as fast as I could since I felt what I saw getting closer. Before I knew it, the effects of tunnel vision started to occur until everything went jet black. I woke up an hour later with a gauze taped tongue depressor in my mouth and had relieved myself of all bodily fluids while I was out. It would be the beginning of what was described as epileptic seizures. Most people who have epilepsy can't describe what it's like to have a seizure, let alone how they feel before they have one. I could with every detail and it was always fear that brought them on... and mine would occur only at night??!!
